Kharved In Blood: Blackout
by Boulder the Dragon
Summary: The mask is his master, and the puppet is it's slave. Flippy must assemble a team to find and take down this monster, before he murders everyone and everything. New chapter, still accepting OC's. Title changed from 'Serpentine' to 'Blackout.'
1. Remnants

**Howdy.**

**I know you've been seeing me a little too much recently, and I've said that my stories would be on hiatus.**

**Well, I'm gonna be a bastard and completely ignore my statements.**

**As such, here's a quick announcement: Kharved In Blood is no more. Why? For a few reasons. One, I had NO direction in which to take it. It was at a stand still. Two, it just wasn't what I wanted it to be. Ever have something in your head that you couldn't wait to do, but when you do it, it's just not what you wanted? Yeah, that. It wasn't the same when I reread it, and I want to revamp it, with a new plot, OC's, and darker and more suggestive themes.**

**And three, I was getting annoyed with my portrayal of the mask. He's meant to be a dick, but even I got a little irritated. Plus I wanted to give away parts of his origin as characters in the story learned of it, rather than explaining it myself.**

**Sorry for leaving the other KIB in permanent disarray. Truly, I am. I can tell you that Dear Agony will remain the same, as I'm pleased with that one. Another thing I'll say, is I'm pretty much an unpredictable author, so ignore me if I say there's a hiatus or I'll update a specific story next.**

**OC submission forms are below.**

**Don't kill me guys, again I'm sorry, and enjoy.**

* * *

"_Wake up . . . you're bleeding . . ."_

The lone figure placed a wrap around his arm, squeezing it lightly and tying it around his limb. As it tightened, blood pulsated through cracks in his skin, flowing is if it were a morbid river of crimson. He didn't even wince at the pain he felt. What was the point?

_"Wrap it tighter. It's sliding off."_

He did so. More blood pulsed.

_"Now get the sewing needles. You know how to stitch, so do it." _

The figure stood up, pushing his feet off the floor and unconsciously maintaining a perfect balance. He stumbled over to the nearby desk, shoving away vermin and insects off of it's dusty surface. He took hold of the thin piece of string and the sharp instrument directly next to it. He made his way back to where he sat before, his feet sloshing and squishing against the floor. The blood on the tiles was almost viscous enough to glue his feet to the floor, but he soldiered on. He sat back against the floor and stabbed the needle under the cloth of the wrap and pierced his skin and fur. He groaned quietly, before stitching himself back together with precise motions.

_"This place is a mess. There's no way we'll go undiscovered if they search it again." _

The dark purple bear glanced up and surveyed the area. Indeed, it was in utter carnage. He couldn't look in any direction without seeing blood and gore. The body of the woman he severed was rotting next to him, and maggots were crawling their way into the pit of her ripped open stomach. On the ceiling, hung a string of teeth and skulls, glued and stuck together to make a sick and twisted design.

_"It looks like a damn horror movie set." _

The bear nodded. It really did look that way.  
_  
"Well, we need to get out of here before we're discover-"  
_  
Banging noises suddenly assaulted the door of the bloody apartment, followed by a deep and husky voice, shouting "open up" angrily, and repeatedly.

"_Looks like I spoke too soon. How many are out there?" _

The violet bear dragged himself over to the window, pushing the blinds away and scanning the outside. There were blue and red lights illuminating the night sky, and watch dogs were barking like crazy. There were several police cars parked along the driveway, and tens of law enforcement surrounding the front yard. They all carried guns, and there was even a helicopter flying nearby, aiming its headlights at the door.  
_  
"Hmm . . . well that's quite an inconvenience. Murder is out of the question, I suppose." _

The bear nodded, shutting the blinds and backing away from the door.

"Open, dammit! Show yourself, you sick bastard!" The police were shouting again, and the banging on the door strengthened.

_"There's no time to waste. Run to the back door. That's an order." _

The animal complied, speeding past his filthy and gore splattered living room. Once in the kitchen, he glanced around for anything useful. He saw several knives, bloody forks, and a spoon with brain tissue glistening on it's surface. He growled in annoyance at the lack of supplies. He almost slipped and broke his neck from all the blood on the floors and walls.

"Open the freakin' door! We're gonna break it down! That's a promise!"

_"They don't shut up, do they? Don't fret, they're not claiming your head today. At least not if you follow my instructions. Now, grab the chair by the sink and throw it at the back window. Break it, and run like bloody hell."  
_  
The bear nodded, of course giving no rational thought of the situation. The glistening mask that was plastered onto his once proud face was glowing in an eerie red luminescence, signifying that his master wasn't asleep and was watching his every move.

He seized the closest chair, the one by the sink, and spun in a quick circle. On the return of his spin, he chucked the wooden piece of furniture out of his grasp. It sailed across the kitchen, before crashing through the glass and soaring out into the back yard.

He heard the police speaking to each other, obviously bewildered by the crash. He heard their footsteps against the pavement outside, checking around the house for another way in.

"_Persistent sons'a bitches. Quick my puppet, out the window." _

The bear leaped through the shattered glass, landing nimbly on his feet against the rough and muddy grass. He deduced that it must have rained earlier.

He turned to his right and took sight of a female cop, who was clearly taken aback by his sudden appearance. She looked him over in silent awe, entranced enough to lower her gun. Her eyes moved from his feet to his baggy pant clad legs, up to his ominous necklace, before resting upon his face. Or, rather, his master.

" . . . What," she choked after a second, "are you?"

_"Ignore her. You have to get out, now. Slaughter her and race away." _

Nodding, the puppet dashed toward the officer, leaping upon her. She screeched as she fell to the ground, the puppet's claws digging into her face. Blood began pooling from the incisions, and she was struggling to throw the being off of her. Her hand reached for her dropped gun, but the mask told his puppet to knock it away. He did so.

"Somebody, HELP M-"

Her cry was cut off by a quick slash to the throat. She gargled, and her head fell limp, blood bubbling through her mouth opening.  
_  
"Get off her. You have enough blood on your fur. I don't think you need anymore." _

The puppet looked over the corpse. Meat and bone were protruding out of her sliced jugular. The bear noted her thin and fit body, hugged deliciously by her too tight uniform. Her curves were calling out to him . . .

_"Control your hormones. Now is not the time. Run." _

Disappointed, the puppet crawled off the body. Now on all fours, he raced off towards the chain link fence, leaping and barely grabbing hold of the ledge. A bullet clanged against the metal of the fence, only a centimeter away from the back of his head.

"There it is! I see it! Requesting assistance!" an officer shouted.

Police began crowding into the yard, and the helicopter's spotlight fixed on him. The sirens were blaring, and the rottweilers were barking and growling at him, held back by a soon-to-break leash. The cops were shouting and screaming at him, things like you're surrounded, or there's no escape, or even the occasional cease and desist.

The puppet hoisted himself over the fence and bolted. The authorities were hot on his trail, guided by the light of the copter. He raced into the woods behind his apartment, and continued to speed deeper and deeper into the forest.

o O o O o O o O o O o O o

"Right this way, Flippy. Careful though, there's blood everywhere."

A stone-jaw and rugged police officer opened the door to the apartment. Stepping beside him was a lime green bear, clad in military garb and wearing both a backpack and a beret, with cameo pants to boot. He stepped inside and glanced around, his face twisting in disgust. He felt his boots stick to the floor, and he lifted them to see some kind of pink and crimson goo squished against them. He growled and shook the strange substance off.

The green bear, Flippy, turned toward the officer who spoke to him earlier. "This is sick, Sarge. I guess that's how you know it's the real deal, huh?"

"Flippy, we've been tracking down this . . . thing, for a long time now." Sarge took out a cigarette from his back pocket and a match from his front. "After we followed him through a trail of blood he left behind, we came upon this little treasure: his hideaway."

Flippy turned back toward the room, taking in the disturbing scenery with morbid wonder. "The masked man, right? That's who you're after?" he asked.

"Of course. What other serial killer would we search for?"

"Where is he now?"

"We have a unit tracking him now. He just fled into the woods." Sarge was now puffing at his cigarette, blowing smoke into the air.

Flippy coughed and waved the plumes away from him, though he didn't comment. "So this murderer, or as you nicknamed him 'Kharv' in you document, is the same one who wore that freaky looking thing on his face?"

"The very same."

"By the way, what opted you to give him that surname anyway?"

Sarge blew another puff from his smoke. "Don't know. Thought it was kinda fitting, since most of his victims are slashed or stabbed to death. I spell it K-H-A-R-V, rather than the normal way, C-A-R-V-E."

"I know," Flippy mumbled, rolling his eyes slightly, "I read the report. He's been at large for how long now?"

"Couple years. Give or take."

"And you STILL haven't found him?"

Sarge glared at Flippy, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Well, Mr. Flippy, I can recall how long it took to track your sorry ass down after that mental breakdown you suffered."

Flippy glared right back at him. "Don't remind me of that horrible time. You know as good as I do that I've taken therapy since then. I'm fine, and I'd like to leave that behind me, if you don't mind," he growled.

The two stood there for a second, eyeing each other ominously. Their rival trance was broken when a young officer with bleach blonde hair stepped toward them. "Sirs, I've received confirmation that the killer has escaped, and fled further through the forest," he said.

"What!" Sarge shouted, practically spitting into the officer's face. "Escaped? We had a God damn helicopter out there!"

The cop seemed to shrink against Sarge's muscular form, cowering slightly. "So sorry, boss! He's a crafty one . . . "

"That he is," Flippy mumbled, kneeling down and checking the body of the rotting woman. Her corpse reeked something awful, but her face was emanating beauty. Flippy guessed she was a lovely woman before death. Shame.

"We haven't come across a killer this cunning since . . . well, Flips back there," Sarge grumbled.

Flippy shot him a bird before returning his attention to the body.

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news," the cop said.

Sarge huffed and turned away. "It ain't your fault, son."

"Still, I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing!"

"Sorry! I mean, er-"

"Boy, get outside and prepare the cars for transport," Sarge told him. "We leave for base in a moment."

The young officer saluted and rushed outside. Sarge turned to Flippy and noticed a solemn expression on his face. "Flips, don't stress out over this. We'll find that bastard soon enough."

"No, not soon enough," Flippy said. "People are dying, and if he keeps evacuating to different cities every time we find his hide out, we'll never get him."

Sarge sighed, and put his fingers to his temples. After a while of thought, he snapped his fingers. "Flippy, I gots me an idea!" he shouted with enthusiasm. "What if we assembled a lil' team to find that little piece'a crap?"

"Team?" Flippy asked, standing up and turning to Sarge.

"A team of both fighters and civilians!"

" . . . I don't follow."

"Listen Flips," Sarge explain, throwing an arm around Flippy's shoulder. "Kharv here seems to love changing locations. Y'know, make a clean slate in a different city 'till we find him. But, what if, instead of issuing another unit of officers, we assemble a unique cast of well trained or experienced gun men?"

Flippy raised an eyebrow and buried his hands in his pockets. "Go on."

"With that team, we have a better chance of gettin' our hands on him. But a group of gunners and fighters ain't enough to find him, so we also need volunteers. People who are willing to come with us as we search for him. Normal people, who can pose as secret investigators to track him down or ask city dwellers if they've seen him!" Sarge explained, taking a moment to puff another plume of smoke.

"Agents and trackers, is that what you're getting at?" Flippy asked, taking his hands out of his pocket and crossing them across his chest.

Sarge went on. "Sure, if that's what ya wanna call 'em. Agents will act as officers, who'll get to take Kharv down if we find him. The trackers' job though, is to find him or ask around and see if others know about him. Y'know, pose as normal citizens, which'll be easy 'cause they ARE normal citizens!"

The police officers began packing up and leaving the building. Flippy and Sarge stayed put, telling them to wait a moment for them to finish talking. "So," Flippy started, "you want to call upon trained or battle ready people, as well as normal people in order to find this mask wearing freak?"

"That's what I'm gettin' at."

Flippy thought for a second. It was a stupid and unnecessary idea, but hey, it was still an idea. After a moment, he announced his decision:

"We can give it a shot."

* * *

**OC Submission Form**

**Name:**

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**Short Bio:**

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**DO NOT overdo it with the OC submission. I have a set limit, so restrict yourself to only one OC per author. Please. Also, like I said in the I Am teaser, if you simply review your OC submission and take off without comment on what you read, your OC won't be featured. Just 'cause it says you can submit one in the summary doesn't mean that's all you have to say in a review.**

**Your guess is as good as mine as to what I update next, so that's all for now.**

**Undecided Boulder out.**


	2. The Interviews, Part One

**A rather slow, but long chapter. This will introduce most of the OC's submitted so far, but the rest will be introduced in part two of this chapter later on. So if your OC doesn't appear here, then they will they will appear in the next chappie.**

**OC submissions are still open, but not for long. Hurry while you have the chance, folks.**

**While not rated M yet, this chapter contains the F bomb quite a bit. If you're offended, read on with caution. When the story kicks off and the blood starts spewing, the rating will change.  
**_  
_**Anywho, enjoy this mostly dialogue and slow chapter.**

* * *

___"I'll focus all of this pain, right into your heart, until it makes you blind. Until the faces of your former world have fallen from your sight, until you're mine, and until the voice of doubt no longer dominates your mind . . . I'm crucified."_

_o O o O o O o O o O o O o_

"So, how many we got here?"

"Quite a few. I'm actually surprised with the turnout."

"Aren't we all."

Flippy was leaning against a sofa, looking over a clipboard in his hands. He was flipping through them monotonously, skimming over the pages at a brisk pace.

"All of those are the folks who volunteered. They answered the ad we sent out just yesterday," Sarge was explaining. "We got several names on here."

Flippy continued to skim through the pages carefully. ". . . Hmm, interesting. So, are they here?"

"Most of them. We informed them to be at the Treemorton City Police Department at around 5:30."

Flippy checked his watch. 5:43.

Dawn was quietly descending upon the small town, blanketing it in lovely shades of yellow and orange. The police station was functioning normally, with officers working their nips off with various computer work and forensics. Papers were already up on the wall, displaying a black and white picture of the masked man, Kharv. It read:

**WANTED **

**Unknown Masked Man **

Codenamed "Kharv", this mysterious man is a dangerous killer at large.  
Identifying him is simple, as he wears a satanic-looking mask. Still, he is known to be very cunning, and agile as well.  
If you see this criminal, immediately call your local law enforcement.  
DO NOT engage him in combat. He is very dangerous, and is not to be thought of as otherwise.

If you see this man, call us immediately, at 1-800-666-69LOL

**REWARD: **

**$100,000, for apprehending or catching this criminal! **

By now, Flippy and Sarge were walking down a corridor, leading to several doors and offices. Sarge was puffing at yet another cigarette while Flippy was searching through his cell phone.

"Checkin' to see if your babe called ya?" Sarge asked, a smug expression across his rugged face.

Flippy elbowed him playfully. "Hardy har har. I'm just searching for any missed alerts."

"Like, calls from your babe?"

"Knock it off," Flippy laughed.

The two made their way to the end of the hallway. Flippy pocketed his phone and opened another door, leading to a large room with a lonely desk at the back wall. The room was empty, save for said desk, which had two rolling chairs behind it, as well as a tape recorder and paperwork on it's surface. Flippy sat on one of the chairs as Sarge relaxed into the other, smoking his cigarette again. Flippy sorted through the papers on the desk, coming to rest on a file that read 'Skiddy.'

"Well, looks like it's time to see what these folks got," Sarge commented, leaning over and pressing a red button next to a speaker box. "Ms. Sherald, could you send our first applicant in please? We're ready to commence with the interviews."

"Right away, Mr. Bluefield," a woman responded through the speaker.

"Who's up first, Flips?" Sarge asked, leaning back in his chair and puffing more smoke.

"A peach cat named Skiddy," he responded, skimming through the paper he was holding. "It says here that he has a medical condition. Some kind of disorder, much like the one I used to have."

"Is it sustainable?"

"Doesn't say. Though the paper does mention that the sight of blood angers him greatly." Flippy mumbled.

The door to the room creaked open slowly, and in walked Skiddy. The peach-furred cat was glancing around the office with wonder, taking in the different sights around him. Flippy noticed the X scar around his eye, and scribbled something onto another sheet of paper.

The cat sat down in a chair facing the two officers. He clasped his hands together across his lap.

"Mr. Rotor," Sarge greeting, tipping his beret to the young feline. "So, let me start by getting some info on ya. Now it says in your application that you wish to be an agent. Have you ever seen combat before, Skids?"

Skiddy smiled to the commanding officer warmly. "Well, I've fought before, if that's what your asking. There was a big issue with my home town . . . a kind of urban war, I guess."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. During that time I learned to use a weapon and fend off outlaws."

Flippy raised an eyebrow and looked up from his paperwork. "What kind of weapon? Handgun, shotgun-"

"Longsword," Skiddy said, with a look of gloat on his face. "Been trained to use that thing pretty well, not to brag."

"A sword, eh?" Flippy asked, rubbing his chin absentmindedly. "So you're more of a close encounter guy, huh?"

"If that's what you call it."

Sarge checked the papers on the desk quickly, before turning back to the cat. "Mr. Rotor, it says here that you have a slight mental disability. Care to elaborate?"

Skiddy frowned. "That won't hamper my chances of joining this operation, will it?" He sounded generally upset.

"That simply depends on how well you can contain that disability," Flippy noted. "But let's talk about something else real quick: Why do you want to help the Treemorton Police find and stop this criminal, Kharv?"

"I guess I've just always found myself to be very chivalrous," Skiddy said, his smiling returning. "It must be the way I was raised, or something. But when I heard there was a way for me to help the country and stop a killer, I kinda just felt the need to use my new fighting skills and assist."

"You're not in it for monetary gain?" Sarge asked.

"Nope."

Flippy crossed his arms and leaned back against his chair. "So let's get back to the this mental thing. Tell us what exactly happens, and how it started."

Skiddy frowned again, sighing back into his chair and avoiding the officers' gaze. "Well, it's not something I'm proud of. But it's kind of a split personality problem, I guess. When I see . . . blood, I get extremely angry. To the point where I don't even feel like myself anymore."

"What started this?"

"Years ago, when my sister died." Skiddy's voice lightened. It was obviously hard to talk about it.

Sarge took his cigarette out of his mouth. "You can stop there Mr. Rotor. We understand."

Skiddy looked up, tears brimming on his eyes. Flippy offered him a tissue, but he politely refused, wiping his eyes along his arm. "I hope I qualify. This is just the thing I need to help the community." he said.

"Well, we'll definitely consider it. Give us a moment to look over the information you gave us, and we'll get back to you in a bit," Sarge announced.

"Just leave your phone number on this paper and we'll call you when we decide," Flippy smiled, offering Skiddy a sheet of paper.

Skiddy smiled and wrote down his number. After he finished, he said bye to the two officers, and headed out of the room.

"Well that was interesting," Sarge pointed out, tilting his head down to the speaker box.

"Hmm . . . well, who else we got?" Flippy asked.

Sarge looked through the papers before asking Ms. Sherald to send in the next applicant. "Looks like someone named Midnight. Says here she's southern, and another sword user. Doesn't say if she's an agent or tracker though."

"We'll figure it out."

The door opened, and in walked a black panther. Her curly hair fell around her shoulders, and she too had a scar along her eye. On her back was a sword, held carefully in place by a sheath. She sat on the same chair, eyeing the two lazily.

"So, Midnight, is it?" Flippy started. "You're from the south, right?"

"Yep," she answered, her voice sprinkled with an accent.

"Says in your application that you were in war."

"'Nam. Seven years. Tough times, but I made it through," she said with a smile.

"Interesting. So, what's your motive for joining up here, Midnight?"

The panther shrugged casually, leaning back in her chair slightly. "Dunno. Guess I just wanted a break from stayin' at home every day. Plus, I couldn't wait to use my sword again after all these years."

"So you believe in violence curing boredom?"

"Hell-to-the-yeah."

Flippy smirked, turning to Sarge. "I like her attitude."

Midnight smiled, crossing her arms and giving Flippy a sly wink.

"Nice sword you got on your back, girl," Sarge noted. "May we see it?"

Midnight unsheathed her weapon smoothly, the sword glowing brilliantly in the light. Beautiful Chinese markings were engraved along the blade, leading up to an elegant handle.

Flippy whistled. "Nice."

"Beauty, ain't she?" Midnight asked, holding the sword up carefully. "'Yall ever need someone to slice someones head off for ya, this baby will do the trick. I've had 'er for years now."

Sarge took out a photo of Kharv, handing it to the panther. "I'm sure you've heard of this bastard. Any thoughts?"

Midnight eyed the picture for a second, before handing it back to Sarge. "He's one ugly mutha trucker, I'll tell ya that. But yeah, I've heard of him. They say he's already killed tens of people."

Flippy clasped his hands together. "That he has. He's escaped police capture and arrest for years now, and he shows no sign of stopping his murderous rampage. Do you think you can help us take him down?"

The southern panther seemed to be in thought for a moment, before smirking to Flippy. "I'll definitely slice his head off, if ya need."

The two thanked her for her time and had her write her phone number down. When she left, Flippy looked over the paper on his desk again. He was surprised that so many people wanted to help them take down a dangerous serial killer. He shrugged and turned to Sarge. "Next is someone named DJ . . . this'll be interesting," he said.

Sarge asked for the next applicant once again. Within a minute or two, a grey cat with goggles along his forehead stepped in. Before he sat down, Sarge complimented his purple mohawk.

"Desmond, I presume?" Flippy asked.

"That's my name. But for God's sake, just call me DJ." the cat said, leaning back in his chair.

"DJ, got it," Flippy said, writing something down.

"So DJ," Sarge said, "what brings you to the Treemorton Police Station?"

"Well, I WAS taking a nap before that damn land lord came in and told me to get my lazy ass up and find a job, saying if I didn't pay the rent she'd kick me out of my apartment. I told her to go fuck herself, and she called the cops on me." DJ shrugged.

"You were arrested?" Sarge asked with a hint of laughter. "So, you're not here for the interview, you're here 'cause your land lord sent ya?"

DJ reached into his backpack and pulled out a paperback book. "Pretty much. But when I got here I saw that if I became part of this . . . thingy going on here, I could get some cash. Then I could flip that wench off and tell her to suck it."

"You sure have a potty mouth on you, huh Desmond?"

"Dammit, I said call me DJ!"

Flippy put his hands up. "Alright alright, my bad."

Sarge raised an eyebrow as DJ opened up his novel. "What'cha readin'? Duma Key? That Stephen King book?"

"Sure am," DJ mumbled, flipping through the pages of the book. "If there's anyone who should be worshipped as a God around here, it's this fucking genius."

"You like King?"

"He's one brilliant mother fucker who should be praised as the Messiah."

Flippy scribbled more words onto his notepad. "So Des- . . . Mr. Jazed- . . . DJ, do you have any special abilities to bring to our organization?"

"Got a gun," he murmured, still reading.

"Great. What kind?"

"Desert Eagle."

"Nice."

The two officers continued to question the cat, but he barely listened to anything they said, as he refused to look up from his novel. After a while, they gave up, and asked him to write his number down and send in the next applicant. DJ got up and finally put his book away, waving to the two before taking off lazily.

_o O o O o O o O o O o O o _

"C'mon, Scott!"

"No."

"Please?"

"I said no, Violet."

"Pretty please with jarkenous menifestieo on top?"

"I don't even know what that is, and no!"

At his house, Scott was chewing away at a thin piece of bacon, crunching and munching on it happily. His friend, Violet, was hovering over him, wearing her trademark snow beanie and sweater.

"Just a bite! I don't even know what 'bahkon' is!" Violet complained, wrinkling her nose slightly. Whatever it was, she knew it smelled delicious.

Scott turned to look at her. "First of all, it's pronounced 'bacon.' And second of all, remember when I asked if you wanted me to make extra? And you said no?"

"That was before I knew what it was!" the peach chipmunk moaned. "Please? It smells so good!"

The grey fox sighed and handed her a strip of bacon from his plate. "You're welcome, it's only 'cause I love you. Like the sister I never wanted."

Violet practically snatched the food from his hand, calling out a thank you, and jamming it into her mouth. A look of pure happiness spread across her face, and she fell into the chair next to Scott. She was chewing with pure joy, savoring the delicacy that was the bacon.

"Is it good?" Scott asked, amused.

"It's like I died and went to . . . Hell?"

"Heaven."

"Sorry, we're not big on religion where I come from."

"It's cool." Scott stood up, stretched, and went for his car keys. "I'm headin' out."

"Where're you going?" Violet asked, leaning over the arm of the sofa to look at her friend.

Scott smiled to her. "Band practice. It's just gonna be me and Iris today, since Sparky's still a little sick and Pike is somewhere on vacation."

"Oooh, I wanna meet Iris!" Violet shouted, practically jumping out of the sofa. The ears of her beanie were flopping chaotically with each bounce she performed. "Please?"

"Chillax, V. If you wanna see Iris you can come hang with us during practice today. But don't try anything crazy, 'ight?" Scott sighed, searching through his keys carefully.

"Like what?"

"Don't hit on her, I'm pretty sure she's straight. Course I ain't too sure." Scott laughed, thinking of how Iris would smack him for joking on her like that.

Violet looked irritated, but yet a tad disappointed. "Just 'cause I'm bi doesn't mean I was gonna do anything! . . . Maybe." She hopped off the couch and slipped on her snow boots, tugging her sweat pants out of the way. "Well, if you wouldn't keep talking about how hot she is, I wouldn't think anything-"

"Shush!" he interrupted.

"You do!"

Scott snorted. "Well excuse me, a guy, for thinking a woman is good lookin'."

Violet stood up, fully dressed and ready to go. Scott mentioned that it was more than 90 degrees outside. "I know," the chipmunk assured, "but it's freezing out there. I think the thermostats are busted."

Scott opened the front door and immediately began sweating. "Son of a bitch, it's like a fucking sauna out there!"

Violet stepped outside, in her jacket, beanie, sweat pants, and snow boots, and glanced around. She put her hands in her pockets and shivered slightly. "See? It's cold . . . " she mumbled.

The rocker garbed fox looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "What are you, exactly?"

"A chipmu-"

"Don't say it."

_o O o O o O o O o O o O o _

"So, Mr. . . Drips, is it?" Sarge asked, folding his arms across his chest and leaning casually against his chair.

"Yeah, but you can just call me Clammy, sir," the green otter said, saluting slightly.

"What'cha doing?" Flippy asked, tilting his head up to glance at Clammy.

"Respecting the higher ups," he explained. "What, you got something against it? It's 'cause I'm an otter, isn't it?"

Sarge chuckled. "Son, calm down. No need to get all paranoid." he said.

Flippy read through Clammy's application and looked at Sarge. "Well, it says here he's a bit bipolar."

"Sir, yes sir!" the otter saluted.

"I can tell," Sarge nodded.

"So, what are your skills, Captain Drips," Flippy asked, leaning forward and smiling to the pirate.

Clammy smirked and stood up on his chair, keeping a perfect balance. "I'm one of the best dang outlaws you'd find out at sea! When Clammy's a-comin' you better start runnin'! I gots me harpoon and cleaver to keep the baddies away! But only to keep the baddies away . . . what, you think I'm gonna use it on you guys? Calm down, me hearties! I mean, sirs! I'll make the best dang agen-"

"Great, so you'll be a tracker." Sarge finished for him.

Clammy fell back into his chair, looking appalled. "Tracker? Yar! You must shivering me timbers!" he shouted. "I've conquered whales bigger than this here office, battled ships made of iron and steel! I NEED to be an agent! What, you don't think I'm good enough to be-"

After a quick call to security, Captain Drips was hoisted out of the room. Flippy wrote his phone number down on a sheet of paper, before turning to Sarge with a look of weary resignation on his face. "These applicants just get stranger and stranger, huh?" he asked, leaning against his chair slightly.

"My ass is hurtin' from all this damn sitting!" Sarge growled, adjusting his sitting position slightly. "But we still got a few more people to interview, so let's soldier on Flips!"

The lime green bear sighed, looking back down to his paper work. "I gotta get home to my wife," he laughed. "Let's see . . . next is someone named Specter. A fox, orange I think."

After Sarge asked Sherald for the next applicant, in walked an orange fox, complete with military garb similar to Flippy's. He was smiling, and he sat down and glanced at the two officers happily. "Mornin', sirs."

"Mornin'," Sarge greeted. "Your names Specter, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well Specter, I'd like to start by asking you a few simple questions, if you don't mind."

"Knock yourselves out," he insisted, still grinning.

Flippy leaned forward. "Specter, why do you feel the need to help us out here?"

"Well," the fox began, "earlier today I ran into someone down the hall. I think his name was Skiddy . . . anyway, we talked for a little bit, and it turns out we're both here for the same reason!" he explained.

"So you're both here to help the community?"

"Yes sir."

Sarge puffed a smoke ring into the air. "That's good to here, mah boi. Weapons, lets talk weapons."

Specter opened up his cameo vest, displaying a pair of sawed off double barreled shotguns, as well as a simple knife perched next to them. He grinned, before closing his vest and zipping it back up.

Flippy and Sarge were in awe. "Damn boy, we're here to take down a killer, not demolish an elephant!" Sarge shouted, slapping his knee and laughing.

Flippy smiled brightly. "What he means is, that's some really impressive firepower there."

Specter leaned back and smiled once more. "Thanks!" he chimed.

Flippy and Sarge turned to each other, having a quick conversation with their eyes, before turning back to the fox. After taking a second glance at the weapons under Specter's jacket, they spoke in unison:

"You're hired."

* * *

**Interviews, part two, will be out shortly. **

**Sorry for all the dialogue and lack of horror or suspense. But like any good fright fest, the intros are slow, but the pick up later on. I'm still in the beginning phases of the story, so bare with me.**

**Two things: One, I hope I got your OC's correctly, and if not, let me know how to fix them. And two, I forgot to include appearance in the OC character form, so here it is again:**

**Name:**

**Race:**

**Gender:**

**Appearance:**

**Personality:**

**Short Bio:**

**Weapons (if any):**

**Sexuality:**

**Relationships (or if they can be in one during this story):**

**Agent or Tracker:**

**Alignment (good or evil):**

**If you've already submitted your OC info, just add the character appearence in your review. And please don't just review the way your OC looks, since I'd appreciate some thoughts on the story so far.**

**'Till next time, ladies and gents.**


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